Twelve Days
by arctique48
Summary: He’d never liked Christmas. One shot. Regulus Fic.


**Disclaimer: Hogwarts etc belongs to JKR, as for the Christmas carol, who knows, it's certainly not mine.**

**AN:** Feeling festive. Kinda.

-

**Twelve Days**

-

- I -

"_A partridge in a pear tree"_

-

"On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me…"

The room was warm, the scent of cinnamon-orange mingling with the smell of the house elf's cooking drifting up from the kitchen. I watched my older cousin sitting by the window, softly singing a song I didn't recognise.

Five years old and I wasn't sure I enjoyed Christmas as much as I should.

Idly I picked up the toy wand my uncle had given me; I waved it and watched the silver and gold sparks drift to the ground.

"Father says she gets it from Hogwarts," Narcissa whispered, blue eyes wide with conspiracy. "He says the mudbloods bring in songs like that."

I remember giving the pale girl a look, "Shouldn't you tell her, then? Surely she wouldn't be singing it if she knew."

The fire had crackled and Narcissa just shook her head sadly, "She knows, alright. He's told her a hundred times, but she says she likes it."

I would have responded but a sudden crash from the next room broke my train of thought.

"Sirius, give it _back_!"

"You'll have to catch me first!"

My first memories of Christmas, that happy time, that time of loving and giving, of joy and family. Don't get me wrong, it was happy, there was family and we did care about each other, but there always that underlying tension. For as long as I can remember little conflicts tugged at us, some so small we barely noticed, sticking in the memory like random blots of ink on a page.

-

- II -

"_Two turtle doves"_

-

"I'm simply stating my opinion, that father's money would be better spent elsewhere."

"Better spent in something other than preserving our heritage, keeping Britain safe for our children?"

"Safe? Dear Orion, what threat do you honestly think muggles could pose?"

"And this is exactly the problem, Alphard, people like you passing them off as harmless creatures! They're worming their way into our schools, Hogwarts muggleborn intake has almost doubled in the last decade alone! It won't stop there, you know! Next it'll be jobs and then the bloodlines. They'll weaken our magic, Alphard. Do you not remember the motto? _Toujours Pur!_"

"And our family will remain pure and retain the upper hand, I don't know what it is you're worrying about, Orion."

"The future of our world! It's all right for you, but I have a family, Sirius and Regulus and their children after them!"

"Well, it looks like it's a good job that you were the older son, does it not?"

"And what would you have the money spent on?"

"Investments, brother. Not the first man out of the east with a promise of a better future."

"This _is _an investment. You'll thank me for it later."

I was seven years old. I heard only a little of their conversation, and understood less, but it stuck in the memory nonetheless. Years later I'd marvel at how childishly my own father had acted, and again at how I myself managed to make the very same mistakes.

Alphard had left soon enough, handing out his presents to Sirius and I and plucking a candy cane off our tree as he exited the house. Sirius adored Alphard. He was eccentric and young, doing everything my father wouldn't in a way that was somehow acceptable. If he had been born ten years previously I image Sirius would have been the same, but tensions were high; while Alphard's eccentricities had him travel the world, Sirius's would have him picking sides in a war.

There was an almighty crash and my mother and Kreature's screeches could have shattered glass.

It appeared that Alphard had given Sirius a toy bludger for Christmas.

"I'll kill him," stated my father coolly, before he turning on heel and slamming his study door.

"Outside!" my mother snapped at Sirius, and obligingly he went, grabbing a broomstick on his way out into the garden.

Ever the quiet one I followed her back upstairs, watched as she poured my father a tumbler of whiskey and settled down on his lap. It was a rare sight, my parents sitting so intimately; they were talking lowly, she stroked his shoulders as though smoothing out ruffled feathers. From what I'd ever been able to tell their lives ran on entirely separate tracks, besides the bedroom they shared I doubt they were ever in the same room alone together longer than it took to exchange a polite greeting. But now, curled up in front of the fire, they looked for all appearances like a pair of doves, Mother cooing over Father, to my young eyes a strange image of romance.

She calmed him down soon enough, I saw his grip on the whiskey glass loosen, and as she bent her head to kiss him I dashed back downstairs, heading outside to join my brother.

-

- III -

"_Three French hens"_

-

"Don't you even _think_ about touching that!"

The thin lipped command was cool enough to freeze the fire in the grate. My mother never shouted, she didn't need to. Besides, she was a noblewoman and shouting was unrefined.

Sirius, on the other hand, delighted in being unrefined.

"Touching what? Oh THIS! Goodness, Mother, I'm so sorry."

Arguments, arguments, arguments. I couldn't wait for the girls to arrive. Our cousins had been visiting relatives on their mother's side in Paris, Bellatrix at least was usually enough to distract Sirius from agitating our parents.

"Sirius Black, if you even ink that quill I'll beat you _so _hard-"

There was a pause, broken only by the light scratching of Sirius's writing.

"Mother, you appear to have been struck speechless. This, you see, is what's called a biro. If you'd taken Muggle Studies you might have heard about them."

Not only was he writing to the Potters (filthy blood traitors, the lot of them), he was doing so with muggle writing equipment. Every night it seemed that Kreature was being sent into my brother's room to remove and destroy mudblood artefacts he'd bought back from school.

When the bell rang at twenty-nine minutes past four on Christmas Eve I was so relieved I almost got up to answer it in place of Kreature.

"Do sit still, Regulus, Kreature will show them in."

"Yeah, Reg, if you were meant to open the door you'd have been born a house elf, isn't that right, Mother? Or maybe a muggle?" Sirius rolled his eyes and I winced as the back of Mother's hand caught him across the cheek.

"Darling!" exclaimed my aunt, walking quickly but elegantly forward to kiss my mother on both cheeks. "Sirius, Regulus," she greeted us in turn.

"Girls, why don't you go show your cousins what you bought back from Paris?"

We recognised a dismissal when we saw one, the five of us dashing up the stairs, racing to get to Sirius's bedroom first.

Bursting through the door I could see Bellatrix's entire body freeze and then recover within the space of a second. Sirius's room had changed quite a bit since she'd last been in it. A great Gryffindor flag adorned the back wall, cheaply printed waving pictures of his friends charmed to the wardrobe doors. One sharp breath through her nose was all the trouble she gave him for it though, pointedly folding to sit on the floor with her back to the 'other side's' memorabilia.

These little uncomfortable silences were the first I really saw of the great Gryffindor-Slytherin divide. Of course I'd been there when mother and father had opened the letter, but I'd known as well as Sirius that he was better received in Gryffindor than he'd have been if he'd ended up in Hufflepuff. Gryffindor was acceptable, just about, as was James Potter at a real stretch. The real issue lay with people like Lily Evans, a name I heard hurled across the room a number of times that holiday. It seemed that Sirius could remain like Alphard - a little strange, unruly, but accepted nonetheless - right up until the point someone said 'Muggle', that was always when things began to turn ugly.

"We bought you presents," beamed Narcissa, appearing not to have noticed the brief exchange between her sister and cousin, but I knew her better than that, she'd seen it, noted it, and stored it away for future reference, but now it was time for games.

"Make up?" exclaimed Sirius, backing away like he was staring down a banshee.

And sure enough Andromeda produced what appeared to be three crates of the stuff.

"We need a model," said Bellatrix with a cat-like grin.

"Regulus."

Sirius had answered before I even registered what was going on.

The following three hours were not ones I cared to remember often, but whenever he was around it was Sirius' very favourite to bring up.

"Remember Reg with Dromeda, Cissy and Bella clucking 'round him like little hens! Lipstick, eye shadow, kohl and blush, I didn't think they were ever going to stop! 'Red is _definitely _your colour.' _Ha_!"

-

- IV -

"_Four calling birds"_

-

The Christmas tree seemed stark that year.

The arguments continued. As I followed Sirius into the house at the end of my second autumn term I could feel him tensing for a confrontation, and soon enough it came.

"There's a word for what you're doing, you know that? It's fucking _genocide_."

In the space of two words he'd gone further than ever before. No one cursed in my mother's presence and no one _ever_ used that word in relation to the 'Muggle Issue' father often discussed with his friends.

I backed into the wall as my mother's hand connected with Sirius's face and my father drew his wand. I edged out of the room then and quietly shut the door, going to sit with Kreature in the kitchen as Sirius shouted and my parents shouted back. It was the first time I'd heard my dad properly raise his voice; Blacks didn't require volume to make what they said heard, that was what he'd always taught us.

"Master Sirius is a bad boy," said Kreature and the following night I found myself agreeing.

"He's gone."

I'd never seen my mother look so distressed. She sunk weakly into the chair and my father strode over to the fireplace, disappearing in a green cloud of Floo dust. When he returned it was with my uncle, aunt and cousin Andromeda.

The older girl led me upstairs and told me she'd help me with my astronomy homework. We sat on my bed and listened to the adults tense voices long into the night.

"What's going to happen to Sirius?" I asked her, and she just looked at me steadily.

"He'll have gone to stay with friends, Reg. Don't worry about him."

I didn't need to ask if he was coming back.

The next day dawned cool and grey. When I went downstairs I found Bella and Narcissa had joined us, the remaining Blacks rallying in their time of need. I wandered through the house under the concerned stare of Andromeda, who would often check I was alright. I was. In many ways I had seen that Christmas coming a long way off; indeed, we all had.

It was like having four birds, each calling me in a different direction. From my parents a "be like us", from Sirius an adamant "don't be like them", from Andy a "be yourself". and from Bella… Well, Bella was a difficult one.

"If you find it that blood difficult Reg, just be _nothing_. Don't make yourself anything. Don't prove or be or _do _anything. Just follow that disgrace of a brother off to Gryffindor!"

She wasn't taking Sirius' decision very well.

I didn't bother to reassure her that it wasn't her fault. There wasn't a great deal of open compassion between us. Not the Black way, as father would have had it.

-

- V -

"_Five gold rings"_

_-_

There had always been the five of us. I suppose it was the blessing of being the youngest in the family. Every Christmas, summer and Easter it would be like returning to that childhood we all remembered so fondly. There were no _real _tensions before Hogwarts; after all, we were nothing but children. There'd be Dromeda, the older, wiser, studious one, giving me books to read, telling me stories, making me imagine entire worlds beyond our little sphere of nurseries and summer gardens. There was Cissy, the girly, sparkly princess of a cousin, always picking me up on my etiquette as though one day I'd too be a prince and need it. There was I, the, perhaps a little childish, youngest. I played up to that role, I'm well aware of it, but they never ceased to indulge me, giving me advice, giving me presents. I would never blame anyone for the course my life took me on, but I know that I was weak when I first met the Dark Lord, and I was allowed that weakness by my family all my younger life. But then, after us quiet three there'd be Sirius and Bella. The extraverts, the innovators, the conspirators. They were the real stars of our family.

They fought, they teamed up, they wreaked havoc on the world in general when we where children. I remember awe and terror conflicting within me whenever I saw the pair of them at work, it was like organised madness.

It didn't last.

From the moment Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor it became clear that it couldn't.

They were no longer a team and, as they had both long ago decided, if you weren't with you were against.

Their little feuds and conflicts continually fractured our tight-knit family, but it wasn't until he left all together that we began to break apart, the five rings of our generation of Blacks going their separate ways.

Sirius was gone. He could have been doing anything and no one would have cared. He wasn't on the family tree any more, I remember spending the better part of one Christmas afternoon just looking at his burnt out name. I found I couldn't remember what he used to look like; my parents had given any photos of him similar treatment. All I could see when I thought of him was Sirius the Gryffindor, Sirius the Marauder, Sirius - if I was being entirely honest with myself - the Potter. He'd abandoned us as much as we ever did him.

Narcissa was drifting. She'd always loved boys, even as a little girl, but Lucius Malfoy was different from the rest; this time it was serious. All she'd speak of with her sisters would be him, all she'd talk of to our mothers would be weddings and all she'd tell me would be what a role-model Lucius would be, what a brilliant elder brother figure to replace Sirius. In her mind, at least, she had already become Narcissa Malfoy.

Bellatrix was distant; intense as she'd ever been, yet somehow not entirely there. It was like her mind was on something different and, well, it was. I'd presumed a man, her Lucius, so to speak, and perhaps I wasn't entirely wrong. He called himself Lord Voldemort then, she was, as she now boasts, among that first few permitted to use his name. She wouldn't ever abuse that privilege though, whether the sentiment was born of fear or respect I don't suppose I'll ever know.

Andromeda was detached. That year, her final at Hogwarts, she spend more and more time in Ravenclaw, the hostility Slytherins showed to other houses reaching out even to her in the wake of Sirius' abandonment.

More and more I found that being a Black meant nothing anymore.

I was home for Christmas, as we always had been, but somehow the house was cold. My parents were out at whatever function and at age twelve I still had a year before I could attend, five until I would be acknowledged as a member of their society. I imagine it was easier for me than for the girls in that respect, I was allowed in as soon as I turned thirteen, even if only to watch, while they had to wait until they were officially introduced upon their coming of age. Sirius never attended the parties, he discovered early on that he found them boring and would instead spend his time at home with me and the girls. But this year Sirius was doing whatever Gryffindors and muggles did at Christmas, Narcissa off courting Lucius, Andromeda staying with a pureblood Ravenclaw friend and Bellatrix had left the house with no explanation not long after our parents.

I sighed, looking back up at the family tree.

The four bottom branches started back at me. The three girls would not be there for long, soon to be married off the Lucius Malfoys of their choosing, leaving behind the name of Black. Sirius' ugly, blackened stain would be the only thing left next to mine then. It made me inexplicably sad in that moment, I might have spent all holiday looking at that tapestry but it was in that moment that it really sunk in: Regulus, the last of the Blacks.

-

- VI -

"_Six geese a-laying"_

-

It had been years in the waiting, but not two hours in and I had decided that Christmas parties were not worth the effort.

I was dressed in my best dress robes, looking by definition "quite dashing" in black, dark green and silver. I danced with various relatives and family friends but being underage there weren't many people there who'd deign to speak to me and listening in to their conversation was more boring that double History of Magic with Binns. The novelty wore off quickly.

"Well, I heard that Alabaster Alchemy Inc. are really doing business this year."

"Yes, yes, that would be my bet for investing the Christmas bonus-"

Witches complained that all men talked about was quidditch. It was a lie. All they talked about was money.

"Well, young Malfoy, I hear you're due quite a hefty inheritance soon?"

"Rosier, you _are _well informed-"

I thought it was women that were supposed to gossip about income? Before long the only thing I had left to console myself with was the image of Sirius here in my place. If there was one person in our family that would dislike the activity of quiet mingling less than myself, it would have been him.

That was a poor train of thought though, it left me imagining him having fun at Hogwarts, with Dumbledore running the party. Foolish muggle lover that he was, Dumbledore did know how to bring a bit of Christmas spirit to the place. I'd never seen Hogwarts at Christmas, but tales of it were legendary. Rumour had it that Christmas opening was introduced to give the muggleborns somewhere to stay, as going back to their muggle families would result in carnage for young witches and wizards unable to defend themselves. Since then apparently muggles weren't quite so nervous of witches and wizards (growing cocky with their new technology, Bella had said) and holiday opening was there more as a tradition nowadays, with even some pureblooded children staying in for the spectacle. Obviously my parents were too conservative to consider it for any of us, but I liked to think that one year I might give it a try.

I took a sip of my butterbeer, looking back towards the dance floor. Hogwarts would be decorated in gold, all roaring fires and warmth and sappy, cliché community spirit. Here, in this age-old hall of some age-old family it was all silver and cold, ice and snow and winter. Cold people fighting to outdo each other with thinly veiled (but veiled nonetheless) barbs and boasts.

They were like a gaggle of geese, all petticoats and dress robes, waltzing to the same tunes, year in year out. The same scandals causing a buzz, the same little triumphs, just with interchangeable names. They stepped, stepped, held the beat, twirled, dipped and stepped again, all in time, all in competition, laying golden eggs, fragile and worthless in the long run, but on their flimsy little political ladder it was all that really meant anything.

Things would change of course, I think there might have even been a whisper of it then, a dark current in the waters of our world. A new power was rising, a Dark Lord with dark ideals and the promise of a brave new future. There would come a time when I'd love him for that; there'd come a time when we all would. A chance to mean something more than money, a chance to _make _something more substantial that investments and business plans; a chance to make the future.

-

- VII -

"_Seven swans a-swimming"_

-

It was different to Sirius's departure.

There wasn't the anger, just confusion.

"I don't understand," Narcissa had said, sinking gracefully into a chair. "I had no idea."

I was in the girls' house, just as Dromeda had been at ours two years previously, attempting to console the other half of my family.

"I just can't believe it… He was a mudblood."

I rested my hand on the blonde's shoulder. There wasn't much you could say to that. He _was _a mudblood. And she had left us for him. Andromeda. The calm, reflective, presence of peace in all the highly strung vanities of our family. Sirius we'd seen coming, but this?

"Mother went to bring her back, Bella went with her, but all she did was show them the wedding ring and ask them to leave."

Andromeda, our beautiful, kind Andromeda. A blood traitor.

"It just doesn't make any sense."

With those words Narcissa began to cry, back straight and head slightly bowed. The perfect picture of a pureblood lady, delicate, poised and weak.

It had begun in their seventh year, apparently, her and Ted Tonks. I'd seen him around before, but he was a mudblood and therefore didn't fully register on my radar. Perhaps I'd seen Avery lay into him once or twice? I couldn't remember.

Who knew when they started seeing each other, but half a year since she left school she was still refusing the pureblood bachelors her mother presented her with and then suddenly she left home, gone a whole week before a letter arrived detailing her elopement. She said it had been a hard decision to make, but it wasn't just love that pushed her, it was her entire being, all her better judgement and moral convictions. The war was wrong, she'd said. I'd never seen my uncle so furious.

There was another stain on the family tree, just between Sirius and Bellatrix.

Another Christmas of shadowed faces and high political tensions. We didn't see Bella much that year. Of her cousins Sirius had been her absolute favourite and of her sisters it was always Andromeda. I suppose she doubted her judgement, turning for guidance to the one person she trusted not to waver; the Dark Lord.

-

- VIII -

"_Eight maids a-milking"_

-

Fifteen years old and I decided it was high time I did something different for Christmas.

At least, that's what I told my school friends when I didn't pack my trunk for the winter holidays. In truth I'd received a letter from father stating that he didn't want me back in London that year. I'd have been offended, even worried, were it not for the fact that pretty much every other child in Hogwarts had received similar news.

The _Prophet_ had become less like a newspaper and more like a daily set of obituaries, peppered with the odd political statement and a few dire moral warnings. '_Ten muggles die of unknown causes'_ was replaced with '_Ten muggleborns die, suspected Avada' Kedavra' _and then again with '_Ten pureblood muggle supporters die, after extensive use of the Cruciatus'_. Home cookery pages were being abandoned in favour of home security, with special tips about how best to seal your fireplace. Bella found the whole thing very amusing.

"Seal up the fireplace and they'll just get in through the windows! This is all so stupid, they're only fighting because people like Dumbledore are still on the Wizengamot, throwing people like Mulciber into Azkaban when he could be making serious changes in the Ministry."

"I thought Mulciber was getting out," questioned someone in fourth year timidly.

"He is. Rumour's saying that Malfoy's paying for it."

"Malfoy?" snorted a sixth year, "I heard it was Black. Don't want to get their hands dirty, but are more than happy to hand over a lump sum if it gets the Dark Lord off their back."

Bella drew herself up to her full height, "I'd watch your mouth Avery, I'd like to see what your family's done to aid him."

The sixth year backed down quickly, I couldn't help wondering if he was blind or just stupid, surely he'd seen it was Bella talking? No one crossed my family anymore. Several violent encounters between Sirius and Bella was enough to show the entire school that when it came to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black Bellatrix meant business. People treated me like royalty in fear of what my seventh year cousin would do if they didn't show me the proper respect. I'm not proud of it but it did go to my head. A lot.

I remember the conversation so vividly, though what started it long ago slipped my mind.

"Or what, McNair? You fancy a run in with my cousin?"

"You think you're so big, Black, just 'cause Bellatrix knows the Dark Lord. Well she's not you, is she? She's not even your sister!"

"No, she's my cousin, and I'm heir to her family! She could get me anything I wanted! _Including_ an introduction to the Dark Lord!"

I doubt I understood that statement then. I certainly don't imagine McNair did. But they were big words in a time so highly charged words were all it took to take down a mountain. If Sirius had heard me he would have hit me hard enough to make my head spin off its course, but Sirius didn't hear. I hardly thought of him any more. The infamous Mr Black half the school raved about was no relative of mine; I, like Bella, was proud to be shot of him.

"You're never going to get an introduction to the Dark Lord!"

His voice was hushed, slightly disbelieving, the voice of so many younger Slytherins. The Dark Lord was taboo, heaven knows what Dumbledore would do if he heard you speak of him, but there was something that drew us to him, even then.

"I am too."

Even if I didn't know it then, I was right.

-

-IX -

"_Nine ladies dancing"_

-

It was Christmas Eve and the fifth year Slytherin boys had snuck into Hogsmeade. The Three Broomsticks was full of Gryffindors and McNair's dad had a problem with the barman at the Hogs Head so we bought ourselves a bottle of firewhiskey and sat outside the Shrieking Shack.

"Do you reckon we'll win the war?"

We stared at Wilkes.

"Just wondering."

"We have to win," I said in what I presumed to be a strikingly intelligent voice, "If we don't win the muggles will take over and all our families will lose their magic and stuff."

"And money," added Nott seriously, "They'd take all our money too."

"But it's not really about the muggles is it?" said Parkinson, "Or money."

We all agreed vaguely, looking at him to explain.

"Well, you know," he brandished the whiskey bottle extravagantly, only to have it snatched away by Wilkes, "You know… It's about us, isn't it?"

"Us?"

"Nah, I don't think people like Malfoy would bother fighting over us," said McNair decidedly, tugging on Wilkes's arm in an attempt to get the bottle himself.

"Remember, what they're all saying? 'Bout how it's _our_ war. 'Bout how it's our _future_."

And I did remember. I remembered that Christmas and Father arguing with Alphard. It _was _about us.

Bella always said that we were better than them, whether it was rising above taunts about my brother or fighting back when they called Andromeda names. We were Black, we were the next generation, and we were all there was left. All that time I stood in front of that tapestry at home, thinking, wondering what the future would hold with only me left.

But thinking wasn't enough.

"He's right!" I exclaimed, incensed by the sudden epiphany, "It's _our _future. And whether we want to carry on with our money and our magic, free of muggles or even if we want to rise above it, build a better world for wizarding kind, we can't just sit back and expect the house elves to hand it to us! We have to go get it ourselves. We have to fight. For the future."

I was sitting up straight, staring excitedly around at my friends lounging on the grass.

"Yeah!" said Parkinson, and Wilkes belched loudly.

In that moment, the war began to make sense to me.

-

- X -

"_Ten lords a-leaping"_

-

The night air was cold and I tugged fussily at my scarf, earning myself a slap on my arm from Bella. It was the evening of Boxing Day on my sixteenth year.

"Stand still," she snapped.

I tried to, but it was cold and I was nervous. There were a few others, huddled in twos and threes about the general area, but besides us few the moor was empty; that was the whole point.

"Stand straight," she exclaimed again, slapping my hand away as I fidgeted with my collar.

She was nervous, I could tell. It was my Christmas present, the thing I'd boasted of quietly all year, the thing I'd pictured again and again to myself, how the Dark Lord would see in me the perfect soldier, how I'd be ranked higher even than my cousin, his favourite. Even my father would look up to me, the true heir to the House of Black.

But in my imagined introduction it hadn't been cold and I hadn't had to sneak out of the house, begging the house elf not to breathe a word.

"Bella, how long will we have to wait here?"

"As long as it takes, Regulus. For gods' sake, He hasn't even got here yet!"

There was something about the was she said 'He' that had it capitalised in my mind, a slight hush, a revered whisper edged with something darker. It was only a word, a tiny word that I didn't even have an image to tie to, but it scared me suddenly. The collage I'd made at the foot of my bed came to mind, all those _Prophet _cuttings, covering each strike the Dark Lord had made, each victory he'd gained. He'd killed people the world thought to be untouchable, he had powers you couldn't even imagine.

"Regulus, stop breathing so loudly. People will hear."

She was worried the other Death Eaters would hear her cousin, her nomination, acting like a frightened muggle child; of course she sounded angry. I did my best to calm my breathing.

"Sorry, Bella."

A nod, but she was distracted, they all were, all the robed figures that now stepped forward to settle into a very clearly ranked circle; there were even gaps for people missing. I couldn't help but wonder where I'd fit in.

Seconds passed with only the sound of the wind, acting only to heighten my nerves. Then with a crack his apparation resounded across the fog-laden moor.

Bella's grip on my arm was iron as she forced me into a bow. I still hadn't seen him yet, I remember staring at my booted feet in the damp grass and wanting so badly to look up, thinking how shocked McNair and the others would be, that I was there, that I stood in front of the Dark Lord himself.

Fear forgotten, heart pounding with excitement I stood up once more, meeting the eyes of that brilliant wizard.

"Regulus Black, isn't it?"

His voice was colder even than the wind and I nodded, stepping forward.

-

- XI -

"_Eleven pipers piping"_

-

It was Boxing Day and a fine layer of snow left Hogsmeade glittering in the moonlight. I kicked a dropped butter beer bottle idly and looked across the street to where Wilkes had assumed a similarly casual position. We were seventh years now, it was strange to think that this was my last Christmas at Hogwarts. If I got caught it could even be my last day.

Somewhere behind us a clock struck six. I caught Wilkes's eye and nodded. We pulled up our hoods as beside me McNair did the same. We were all under Polyjuice Potion, taking the forms of three randomly selected muggles by all accounts, but all the same, masks and hoods were imperative. Losing a mask was recoverable, but getting caught carrying out this plan _this _close to Hogwarts could result in far worse than expulsion if the potion ran out with us in custody.

A gaggle of fifth years pushed past us and McNair next to me puffed up, he'd taken his mark not two weeks ago and was desperate for action.

"Wait," I hissed, "If we strike too early we'll screw it up completely."

He nodded jerkily, hand going once more to his left arm. I knew what he was feeling, the tattoo would still burn from the summons we'd received earlier that day.

There was a crack of apparation and someone I knew to be Rosier appeared further down the road. With him were three muggles. One of them had wet himself in terror. I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

"Now."

And suddenly we were running, smashing windows with spells, hurling jinxes and petty curses at the younger children running around. The point was not to injure them, just scare them outside to see the show Rosier would be putting on with the muggles.

I felt like the pied piper, the wizard who'd played a pipe so beautifully the muggles followed him out of the city. Only they weren't following, they were fleeing; the sense of power was intoxicating.

The dark mark burst into being somewhere behind me and the kids' screams rose in pitch. It was chaos and I found myself laughing, Bella had said I'd enjoy this one and she was right. It was like herding sheep, pushing the children forward and out doors with spells and loud noises.

But then suddenly there was a burst of light and the screaming cut out, feet stilled and there was only shock.

"OUT!" roared Rosier's voice and Wilkes dissapparated in front of me.

Someone was dead.

I felt my feet moving me forward.

There was a boy holding his wand at arms' length, face shocked and body shaking. I recognised him. A third year Slytherin. The boy dead at his feet was wearing a Gryffindor scarf.

"_OUT_!" came Rosier's voice again, more insistently.

But I couldn't move. I remember casting my first Unforgivable. I remember the wave of nausea, the terror, the coppery taste of bile and blood that came from untamed dark magic. I remember the helplessness and shock.

I couldn't leave him.

The crowd was starting to move, there was crying and angry shouts and I knew if that Slytherin didn't get out of there there'd be more bloodshed. I pushed through the crowd, knocking down the sixth year Ravenclaw that stood in my way, scattering terrified others as I came to stand behind the young killer.

Closing my arms around him and nodding to a furious Rosier I apparated the boy out.

-

- XII -

"_Twelve drummers drumming"_

_-_

The water drips from the ceiling, striking a steady beat on still water and damp stone.

_Rat-at-at._

_Rat-at-at._

It's like booted feet marching over frozen ground, like the scuttle of insect legs, like drumming for the executioner, stepping up with the axe.

I rest my head against the cool, damp floor beneath me, trying to quell the pain.

_Rat-at-at._

_Rat-at-at._

Not long now.

It's been a matter of weeks since I left Kreature with Him. A matter of moments since I sent the house elf away. If I close my eyes I can still hear him scream across the lake. Crying for his beloved Master Regulus.

The pain is immense and I feel like crying, but there's no water left within me to do so. I feel drained, dry as a crisp, wafer thin and drifting on the icy-chill breeze. Kreature's screaming and I drag myself towards the water for a drink. All I know is that I need to drink.

He won't know yet.

Kreature will destroy the locket. He'll break it and keep the secret from everyone, even his Mistress, my mother.

They'd let me in too deep. It was true, they'd let me in far too deep. I'd let _myself _in far too deep. That was largely Bella's fault, us Blacks had to stick together, she'd said. She'd been too overcome by devotion to her Lord to ever notice my waver, she never saw my loyalties falter, she never expected them to. I was a _true _Black, the only one left. I was the one who'd bring our family back into the light once the war was over, and to do that I needed to _know _the Dark Lord.

And I knew him alright.

I knew him better even than she.

A horcrux. That was his defence.

I struggled with myself, just as I struggled after my first _Avada Kedavra_, just as I struggled after my brother left. I struggled and struggled, but finally I believe I made the right decision. For everyone.

_Rat-at-at._

_Rat-at-at._

The water is drumming, dripping off the ceiling as a steady clatter, I hear it inside my very head, the echoing, pounding beat, bringing me closer and closer to the executioner's block.

_Rat-at-at._

_Rat-at-at._

It's like the feet of children, scattered in Hogsmeade, like the clawing of muggles at a door that just won't unlock, like the steady beat of Sirius bouncing that old toy bludger off his bedroom wall, like the tap of my father's quill as he eyed me over that great oak table. The dripping of water in the tidal cave. Like the wavering of my heart as the elf sails out with the locket.

_Rat-at-at._

_Rat-at-at._

It's my death sentence and my final gift back to the wizarding world.

I started it. I can only hope that now someone will be able to finish.

_Rat-at-at._

_Rat-at-at._

Underground rain on Christmas Day. Memories spin through my head, my rattled nerves cursing every Christmas that's been tainted by the memory of this war. I've reached the lake's edge.

My lips feel the cool, fresh water, quenching my thirst, pulling my mind back from its disturbed wanderings.

_Rat-at-at._

_Rat-at-at._

Like drums.

The water doesn't feel so still anymore.

_Rat-at-at._

_Rat-at-at._

My heart joins in, pounding against my ribs as I see pale forms beneath the water's surface.

_Rat-at-at. _

_Rat-at-at._

Hands. Dead hands. Followed by heads and shoulders and entire corpses, lifeless but alive, pulling themselves towards me.

I don't have the strength to move.

_Rat-at-at._

_Rat-at-at._

There'll come a day when Voldemort will regret calling upon an elf. They'll come a day where he'll howl in fury at his own stupidity in underestimating the final Black. Kreature will have destroyed the locket. My brother and those other Gryffindors will find the Dark Lord weak, half his soul destroyed, the other up for the taking. When death meets the Dark Lord it will find him mortal and it will win.

_Rat-at-at._

_Rat-at-at._

The hands are cold as they pull me under, cold and strong, drowning me in strength and heavy black water. I try to struggle but the poison stills my limbs, I try to scream but the lethargy is bone deep, the pain ringing in my ears. I blink beneath the water, seeing only a green glow above, so like the death curse. I can't breathe, I can't move, only watch the eerie forms tug at me, only gaze at that shrinking green light. I close my eyes.

I've done the right thing.

I open my mouth and let black water fill my lungs.

_-_

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